The first body was found at dawn.

It was one of Vavaporn’s lieutenants; he was slumped against the back gate of the mansion like a broken doll. His eyes were wide open, frozen in that final moment of shock. His throat had been slit with precision; not a drop of blood was wasted on the ground. It was deliberate, clean, and personal.

There was no note.

No name.

No signature.

Just one thing.

A small silver coin was placed delicately in the dead man’s palm—ancient, polished, and Reverent.

A ...